Sanctuary
by MarySkater
Summary: Torn between the two men in her life... What if Christine chose a third option?
1. Chapter 1

Sanctuary

Part 1

Christine sat on the hard wooden chair, gazing at the woman on the other side of the desk. The white coif and black veil framed a strong-boned, middle-aged face, a little stern, perhaps, but not without sympathy. The Mother Superior of the priory returned her gaze in silence for a while, then nodded slightly. "You have been learning patience, daughter, in your time with us. When you first came, you could not have waited so calmly."

"I was distressed, not knowing which way to turn. But you have given me this precious time for quiet thought. I see my way clearly now."

"And are you convinced that the way you have chosen is the perfect way? That it is right for you?"

"I… do not seek perfection. I do not think that is to be had, this side of Heaven. But right for me? Yes. Wholeheartedly I made my choice."

The prioress looked down at some papers spread before her. "It is some time since you came to this house with your letter of introduction from my old friend Madame Valerius. She explained a little of your difficulties. I made further enquiries on my own behalf, and I consulted those in authority over me and over this convent. As a result, you were given special dispensation to hasten your admission. Madame Valerius believed that you would find peace here. I hope that you will. It has been decided that, as a member of this community, you shall bear the name of Sister Cecilia."

Christine knew, of course, that Saint Cecilia was the patron saint of music. She bowed her head. "You do me great honour. I shall try to deserve it."

The prioress nodded. "You may return to your cell, and to your duties."

Christine rose, pausing for a moment to let her unaccustomed black habit, twin to that worn by the superior, settle into its folds around her, and quietly left the room.

O-O-O

Time passed. One day was much like another, but there came a day when the prioress had something new to think about. She had been attending to the daily correspondence. Gathering the routine letters into a pile, she summoned her secretary to take and file them, and send out the replies. Alone again, she picked up the two letters which she had kept aside, and gazed thoughtfully at them.

The one which had arrived by express courier was on fine-quality notepaper with the Chagny crest. Even in the priory, no one could rise to her position without having the knowledge and the ability to deal with worldly matters. This was a letter whose coming she had expected. She pondered the writing, educated but hasty, and the bold signature, at odds with the desperate plea expressed by the writer. The way he repeated himself, the distracted words pouring out, showed her plainly that this was written from the heart, not the intellect. Here in the convent they had been granted a time of quiet, but she had felt that this intrusion from the world would come eventually.

It was more difficult to account for the second letter. It had appeared in the gatehouse, but not with the regular post, and no one was quite sure how it had arrived. The paper was plain, of adequate quality, available in shops in any town. The address at the top was of a local hotel. The writing was less neat than that of the first letter, but it did not convey the same sense of frantic anxiety. The signature was in the same script as the letter, impersonal, without any of the distinguishing characteristics which most signatures acquire with use. Pierre Martin. The name could hardly be more common. Assumed for the occasion? Of course there _were_ many men with that name, but she guessed that most of them would cultivate a distinctive signature.

Both writers wanted an interview with a sister of the house. The first, from the Vicomte… no, the Comte. With the death of his older brother, young Raoul de Chagny had inherited the unfortunate Philippe's title as well as the headship of his family, with all its responsibilities. His letter was fervent, pleading, pathetically eager but terrified of rejection, at odds with his position in society. The other… no pleading there. The words were formal and polite, but underneath… was that a current of arrogance? When he discussed the desired interview, the writer almost seemed to speak of it as a certainty, not as a favour to be asked. The letter had, perhaps, the tone of an authoritarian father speaking of a wayward daughter, but the sister concerned had no father. After due thought, the prioress rang again for her secretary. "Please find Sister Cecilia, and ask her to come here."

Christine entered the office with folded hands and downcast eyes. At the prioress's request, she seated herself, maintaining her modest bearing.

"Daughter, we spoke before of your quest to find peace. I hope that you have."

"Yes, Mother. You know how beset I was, out in the world. Those trials were beyond my powers. Here within, I have duties and tasks within my scope. Here I have indeed found peace."

But perhaps not happiness, the prioress thought to herself, studying the pale face, the carefully controlled expression. "Another task for you has now presented itself. You and I must deal with this." She handed over the letter from the Comte, and watched carefully as the young woman read it. Agitation crossed her features, and sadness.

"Mother, I think it is best that I do not meet him."

"Daughter, I think it is best that you do. If you are to make a life here, it is your duty not to leave such matters unresolved. Were you not engaged to this man?"

"No… not exactly. He wanted to marry me… but somehow I felt that it was not my fate to marry. And then… he was, at that time, an officer in the navy, due to be sent on a mission in a few weeks. So I said that we might… pretend to be engaged… for the short time we had. With hindsight, it was foolish, but I cared for him too much to send him away. So we played this game, and both closed our eyes to the reality, that we could never have a life together. He, I think, forgot that it had begun as a game. I never could."

"I understand. But there is one more such matter to be ended tidily. There is one more request for a meeting."

Christine's face paled even more, and for a moment she seemed to sway where she sat. But she recovered herself, and when the prioress handed over the second letter, she read it without comment.

"Do you know this man?" enquired the prioress.

"I do not know the name," Christine replied. The prioress waited silently, prompting a more complete answer. "I do not know the name, but I know the handwriting. But, Mother, even if you order me to that other meeting, I beg you to spare me from this one."

"For your own sake, I cannot. You must speak to both of them. You have not forgotten that one of the vows of this sisterhood is obedience, and I require you to obey me in this. Take comfort in that you must not be alone for these meetings. I shall be present, and what passes shall remain private between us. But I firmly believe that you can never rest happy here until these matters are finally put behind you. I shall make the appointments for tomorrow. Today, you should attend to your duties as usual, but meditate and pray for guidance."

O-O-O


	2. Chapter 2

**_[Author's note: I realised from a comment in a review that there was something I hadn't made clear enough. So I have edited the first part of this chapter to make my meaning plainer. Version 2, 8th October 17]_**

Part 2

When Raoul arrived at the convent, the sister in charge of the gate assigned a messenger novice to conduct him to the audience room. A beam of sunlight from the window picked out a posy of flowers on the small, plain table. Two wooden chairs were set at it, with a few others around the walls. His guide left, but after a minute or two another door opened, and two nuns entered, the prioress and… "Christine," he murmured, pain in his voice.

"Within these walls, I am known as Sister Cecilia," she answered.

"But to me, you will always be Christine."

"Be seated, both of you," instructed the prioress. "I must remain, but I shall not interrupt you." She went to a chair in a corner of the room, took up some needlework and bent over it, seemingly absorbed. Christine sat at the table, and after a moment Raoul sat opposite her.

"Did it have to be this, Christine? Such a hasty commitment – I expected to find you in the white veil of a novice, not the habit of a full sister. And in only a matter of months…"

"I asked for this, Raoul. My situation… they were kind, they gave me special dispensation."

"Oh, I'm sure!" Raoul cast an angry glare at the prioress, who paid him no heed. "Once they heard you sing, they would not want you to change your mind! But how could you shut yourself away here? How could you let them crop your hair and throw it on the fire? Did I drive you to this? Or was it – him?"

"Life drove me here, Raoul. You, and him, and all that went on."

"But if you had let me be your husband, I could have protected you – "

"No, Raoul. I always told you that I could never marry you. And you – you once said that, because I would not marry, you wanted to see me in a safe place, and then you would leave me. Now I have found my safe place."

"But how safe is it? I searched a long time without finding you, but then I heard a rumour of a wonderful singer in the choir of this priory. I had to come, and I have found you. May not… others… do the same?"

"But neither you nor… nor anyone can force me away from here. I am guarded, as you see. Raoul, I am sorry that I had to abandon our friendship, had to abandon… everything. Even my colleagues in the Opera. I suppose Carlotta sang Marguerite, that night when I was snatched away?"

"She did. I was not there, of course, I was searching for you. But I did hear afterwards that she sang in a manner more subdued than was usual for her, and as a result gave a very moving performance. There is a rumour that she intends to retire now, feeling that that was the best she could ever do. But, Christine, you are changing the subject. What of you and me?"

"What of it?" She raised a hand, plucked at the coif which covered her head. "My decision is made, Raoul. We come from separate worlds, and now it is time for us to go to separate worlds."

"No! I cannot accept that! Christine, even vows can be revoked. I shall get lawyers to search for precedent. I can go to Rome myself, to plead your case. I shall see you free, and then – "

"Raoul, stop crying for the moon. See the reality, and forget me. I wish you well. I will pray for you." There was a break in her voice, and she rose abruptly. "I can do no more. Goodbye, Raoul." Turning, she quickly left the room.

Raoul had also risen, made as though to follow her, then stopped. The prioress rose from her seat. "No, Monsieur, you cannot go that way. Go out by the other door. The messenger will conduct you to my office, where I will join you in a few minutes."

Raoul heaved a long breath, and let it out, his shoulders slumped. "For what purpose? Everything has been said."

"Nevertheless, it was a condition of this meeting that you would speak to me afterwards. I hold you to that. Now excuse me; I must see Sister Cecilia."

O-O-O

A short time later, the prioress entered her office, where Raoul was waiting. "I wanted a few words with Sister Cecilia," she began. "She had already told me something of the time that you and she have spent together, and she is firm in her conviction that a childhood friendship is no foundation for adult love."

"So she turns her back on me, with no regrets," Raoul replied bitterly.

"She regrets very much that she has been the means of causing you pain. But she does not regret her refusal to marry you. Monsieur, though you may not think it, I was young once, and I was not always a nun. I know something of love, and of loss."

"And so you would counsel me to resignation? To accept my lot patiently? Perhaps you would send me to a monastery!"

"By no means. The cloister and the habit may conceal a broken heart, but they cannot heal it. No, Monsieur. Since the love you want is denied you, I would counsel you to look for some other way to fill your life. Duty, perhaps? There is a certain satisfaction in doing one's duty, and as you are of a noble family, it seems likely that you have many demands upon you. This duty you would have denied, had you gone against your family's wishes."

"Duty!" Raoul rose and paced about the room. "All my life, my brother lectured me about my duty. I need not hear it from you as well."

The prioress sighed. "Monsieur, when Mademoiselle Daaé first came to us, I needed to find out all I could about her unusual situation. This is not a closed order; I know people out in the world, and I asked them. Perhaps some of what I heard was mere gossip, and I should not have listened, but that is a matter between me and my confessor. You spoke of your brother. In the eyes of society, it was _his_ duty to marry well and sire an heir to carry on the family name. And yet he did not, choosing instead to remain a bachelor and spend his time consorting with the opera girls. There was much speculation about him, some unkind, some pitying.

"Now the duty has fallen upon you. Be aware, Monsieur, that if you continue to pursue Sister Cecilia, you will be subject to the same insolent speculations. I dare say you would not care, if you could win her in the end. But as you have seen, she rejects you, preferring to remain here. You cannot have her. Accept that fact, and then remember that _you_ are now the head of your family. Would you turn your back on all that that means, abandon the ties of blood and loyalty? Monsieur, go home. Look in your mirror and say to yourself, 'That is the Comte de Chagny. How should he behave, to be worthy of that name?' I think you will find that guidance will come to you."

O-O-O


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

A little later, outside the interview room, Christine felt a shiver in her spine. With an effort, as though she were about to go on stage, she braced herself and, head held high, followed the prioress into the room. Erik waited there, impeccably dressed, elegantly masked. Christine heard a soft gasp from him as he saw her, but she went straight to her chair. Slowly he moved to the other chair, and she thought he trembled a little.

She could not allow herself to be weakened by pity. "I suppose I should thank you for coming in by the front door," she flung at him. "I might have expected you to appear out of the walls."

She must have imagined that tremor in him. There was no sign of it now in his rigid dignity. "I have no objection to following the rules of this house." He glanced at the prioress in her corner. "Provided it gets me what I want."

"And what is that?"

"To speak to you. To find out what brought you here, and to see if you now understand that your voice cannot be hidden in the anonymity of a choir."

"Oh, but it can, and did for my first months here. You taught me that," she hesitated, "when you used to sing in your soprano voice, and make me follow you, so that our two voices sounded like one. You said it would give me control, and it did. I can blend with the rest. But the precentress who directs our choir said that to do so was a waste, like the servant in the parable who buried his talent and made no use of it. My voice is a gift from God, and should be used to sing to his glory."

"Your voice is a gift from God?" he questioned ironically.

"Yes, it is," she answered defiantly. "But… my skill in using it, my joy in music… those are gifts from you, Erik. I do not forget that."

He reached across the table and took her hand, and for a moment the gesture looked tender. But he turned her hand over to look at the palm and the back, then threw it from him almost contemptuously.

"They have you scrubbing floors here?"

"Why not? This is a community. Floors have to be scrubbed, dishes have to be washed. We have none of the clever machines you invented to make light of such tasks. We all do our share."

"Wasting your energies on servants' work! And yet you talk of burying talents. Even the boy would have saved you from that. When you went off with him, I thought you would marry him. What happened? Did he realise that a nobleman should not marry an actress? Did his family drive you away? Or did you come to your senses and realise that he is unworthy of you?"

"I… there were many reasons. Raoul would have married me, but… in the end it was I who left him."

"And did he pursue you? Did he drive you into these walls? You had no need to do that, Christine. There are… other ways that you could have been rid of him if he troubled you. I saw him arrive here earlier, full of hope, and I saw him depart, downcast but not despairing, full of schemes and resolutions. You had only to ask… no, you need not even ask. I shall watch him. He shall not be permitted to harass you."

"Erik, leave him be!" Now she was angry with him; he could be just as high-handed as Raoul, thinking he had the right to rule her life. "You have shed enough blood, ruined enough lives. He is no threat to me, and he has not deserved your hatred. But if you harm him… you will deserve _mine_!"

For a moment, his eyes closed behind the mask, and his shoulders slumped a little. Her words must have struck him harder than she had expected. But he rallied immediately, and his gaze transfixed her.

"Then if not because of him, why did you seek sanctuary here? Surely not for fear of me? I would not have hounded you. Who drove you to this step, Christine?"

She paused for a moment. "No one drove me, Erik. It was my choice. I looked at my life, at what I could do with my life… and this seemed best. Please do not question me further. Please be content with the knowledge that you are always in my prayers."

"Prayers! Do you think your God cares about me, when he cursed me, before I was even born, with _this_?!" He raised a hand to his mask and started to remove it, then thought better of the gesture and resettled the mask over his face. "No. You mean well, I know. It is not fair to trouble you thus, to let your last glimpse of me be all of horror." He paused, head bowed, and sighed. "Very well. If this is truly your own wish, I yield to it. Goodbye, Christine. Be happy."

Without another word, she rose and left the room, quickly, before the tears could spill from her eyes.

O-O-O


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Alone in her cell, Christine recalled every word of the two meetings. How like Raoul to think only of undoing what she had done, to be confident that he knew better than she did what she should do. How like him still to yearn for what he could not have, paying no heed to all the worldly advantages which he already possessed. He had position in society, he had sisters and their families to support him. He need not face his pain alone.

But Erik… despite her misgivings, he had submitted to her will, made no effort to take her back. That was not the the man whom she had known as her Angel of Music, possessive, demanding, masterful. But she recalled the fateful night when he had let her go away with Raoul. That had been a different Erik, one who placed her happiness above his own. And the man she had met today was that same Erik, respecting her freedom to make her own choices. No worldly advantages for him, no help or comfort. What was there now for him, if she let him walk away without another word? What would become of him?

She tried to reassure herself about him. He had conquered untold hardships in his long life, beset with difficulties. He could survive anything…

But could he survive a broken heart? He had never faced that trial before. And… nor had she. Until now. Christine tried to analyse her feelings honestly. Had she been deceiving herself? When she came here, was she running to her proper home? Or running away from what had gone before? She recalled telling the prioress that she had made her decision wholeheartedly. Those words mocked her now. Her heart was not whole; it belonged to another. It was time for her to face the truth.

Christine had wanted to do some good with what was left of her life. Now, she reasoned, she saw a way that she could do good. But could she trust her reason? For her heart leapt within her, and she understood that her reason simply pointed her to an action which she had secretly longed to take. She hesitated a moment more, then took pencil and paper, and wrote a short note.

O-O-O

There was a long quiet in the interview room. Erik stared blindly at the posy of flowers on the table. He had seen the shimmer of tears in Christine's eyes. No one else in his life had ever thought him worth tears, or worth a kiss. He recalled the days when he had sought to control her, to own her. How wrong he had been! She had taught him better, with the pure goodness which was in her. She could have taught him so much more. He recalled how he had given her the gift of freedom, at such cost to himself. But it seemed that she did not want freedom, having immured herself here. He tried not to think of it as his gift being flung back in his face, tried to hope that she had found her way to happiness.

A soft tap at the door broke the silence. Erik's mind came back to the present. How long had he been sitting here, with the prioress motionless in her corner, regarding him gravely?

The door opened and the messenger entered, bowing in apology. She handed her superior a note and left without speaking. His thoughts disturbed, Erik rose to leave.

"Monsieur, you agreed to a short interview with me, if I granted you this time with Sister Cecilia. Please do not go yet."

He shrugged, and sat down again. "What is left to say?"

"That you must make a life for yourself, one of which you need not be ashamed. Sister Cecilia spoke of your having shed blood, ruined lives, and those memories pained her. Surely you do not wish to cause her more pain. Can you make up your mind to refrain from actions which distress her? It would please her, and God, if you could try to live for others, not just yourself."

"Look at me, Madame." He removed his mask and turned his gaze full on the prioress. Most people, when he did that, would run from him. Some screamed, some fainted. All too many seized a weapon and lashed out at him. The nun's eyes widened a little, but she met his eyes without flinching, and he felt grudging admiration for her courage. "The God whom you worship did this to me, blasted a child in the womb who had committed no sin, unless being conceived is a sin. Was I punished for the sins of my father or grandfathers? Does not God visit the iniquity of the fathers on the children, unto the third and fourth generations?"

"So it is said in the Old Testament. Other parts of the bible say exactly the opposite, that we answer for our own sins but not for those of others. If you wish to debate the subject, find a Jesuit priest who will no doubt discuss comparative theology with you until you are weary. For myself, I speak only of your own life. I have learned from Sister Cecilia's foster mother how you taught her to sing. Your face, I can see, is a burden, but your music is a gift. Who is to say which is more important? But even if the burden looms the greater to you, that does not give you the right to vent your anger on others, to punish those who have never harmed you."

"And what of those who _have_ harmed me? My life has not been one to encourage me to love my fellow man." Drawing his mask back over his face, he let his hands close into fists, as though at bitter memories, as he rested them on the table.

"How often have you tried? Human affection can do much to give comfort. It may even influence a sinner to turn away from evil."

"And lead the sinner back to God?" Erik asked sarcastically.

"We hope only for the best that humankind can do. We do not demand miracles." The prioress glanced again at the note in her hand. "Monsieur, you asked what was left to be said. There is something you must know. When Christine Daaé came to us, seeking sanctuary, I could see her turmoil, and that she needed a time of peace. I made arrangements that she could live among us, that she could wear the full habit for whatever protection it might give her. But I would not allow her, in that state of mind, to consider taking vows. She is simply a guest here. She may leave at any time she chooses."

Erik slumped back in his chair. His eyes closed for a moment, but his heart rejoiced. Christine was free! She had not rejected his gift after all, not sought new chains to bind her. His clenched hands opened, like a caged bird released into the air.

The prioress watched him, and seemed to read his thoughts. Then they both heard the sound of a soft step at the door. "Yes," she said. "Christine is free. Perhaps she will leave… when she sees her way to the life which will make her truly happy."

The door opened, and Christine entered, clad in a plain blue travelling gown, her unshorn hair drawn up in a hasty coil. For a moment she paused, then stretched her hand out to him, and smiled.

Slowly, swaying, he rose to his feet. The prioress had said, 'we do not demand miracles.' But the miracle had happened, the miracle stood there smiling at him. A mist blurred his vision, only her face clear to his eyes. _Her_ eyes shone, without tears, without doubts.

Erik took Christine's hand, and together they walked out of the room, out of the convent, and into the sunshine.

O-O-O THE END O-O-O


End file.
